


mischief

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oikawa continued to stare at him for a bit, their eyes locked. Then, with eyes especially bright, he broke the spell by whispering, “Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”





	mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



On that particular morning, Hajime was woken by a soft singsong voice just a few centimeters away from his right ear. But just because it was delicate, quite unlike the shrill calls that usually came from that source, didn’t mean Hajime was any less irritated by it.

After all, he’d been having a really nice dream beforehand. He had somehow befriended a giant lizard, and his new pal had been giving him a ride on its back, breathing fire on tiny, annoying people who were running around its feet. There were crazy colors and everything smelled like peppermint and Hajime was pretty sure Japan won the World Cup. It was action-packed, but still managed the blissfulness of a standard, one-and-done kind of dream.

But, due to a certain Oikawa draped over him and whispering sweetly about ‘Iwa-chan’s mom said it’s time for breakfast,’ Hajime was now floating farther and farther away from the slumber that pulled behind his eyes.

He was still warm, however, and giving the outward appearance of continuing to be under sleep’s spell. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he decided blearily to attempt to keep up that image. He employed his maybe-if-I-stay-still-enough-he’ll-think-I’m-dead-and-give-up tactic. He’d heard from someone that that ploy had worked well with most dinosaurs, and Hajime was honestly too desperate for silence to find a place to end comparisons to Oikawa.

But of course it didn’t work. Just like the last forty times Hajime had tried it.

Hands were suddenly at his waist, jostling him roughly. “Iwa-chan!”

Tensing, Hajime gritted his teeth. He might love his boyfriend, but even Oikawa had to realize that sleep was a precious delicacy, one that Hajime prized above many others. And as Oikawa continued to shake him, Hajime wondered vaguely about his reasoning the day before in offering to let Oikawa stay the night.

As his mind registered a particularly aggravating whine escape Oikawa’s lips, Hajime came up blank.

“Ugh,” he grunted, his eyes flying open to glare at Oikawa in his dumb, waking-Hajime-up-too-early face. He shoved at Oikawa, who tumbled off of him, and Hajime sat up. “Let me—“

But then he saw it.

Not only was Hajime’s boyfriend way too upbeat, sunny, and  _ awake _ at that time of day for anyone in their right mind’s comfort, but there happened to be a large, blaringly obvious and blaringly Seijou-blue number 4 on his chest.

“Why the fuck. Are you wearing my jersey.”

Oikawa had the nerve to puff out his chest, even though it looked pretty ridiculous from where he sat on his ass on the floor. A giant smile overtook his face, and his eyes twinkled brightly. “Doesn’t it look great on me?”

Hajime eyed Oikawa’s collar dubiously, allowing, “It literally looks exactly like yours. Just with a different number.”

“Then it  _ does _ look good on me!” Oikawa practically sang, his smile growing impossibly wider, a tweak of mischief catching on the ends.

All Hajime managed was a muttered  _ dumbass _ as he untangled himself from his sheets to stand. He was fairly certain that even from Oikawa’s less-than-graceful position on the floor, he didn’t miss the red that had climbed onto Hajime’s tan cheeks. Hajime would never admit out loud that his boyfriend’s enthusiasm was pretty cute.

As Hajime straightened his arms above his head to stretch, Oikawa scrambled up from the floor, a small grin still playing at his lips. Hajime’s back arched as he stretched and a string of small, sleepy sounds fell from his mouth. His white t-shirt rode up to allow the languorous movement, baring his stomach.

“Hey,” Hajime said in warning, dropping his arms to his sides.

With another light smile, Oikawa danced away, with another sung claim of ‘food, Iwa-chan’ and ‘it puts strength right into those glorious muscles of yours, hm?’ He then skipped out Hajime’s doorway, swaying his hips happily.

A sigh blew between Hajime’s lips as he ruffled a hand through his short hair.

Oikawa really was a cutie.

(Damn him if he ever heard those words.)

A rumble shook from Hajime’s stomach then, and he allowed himself his own small smile as he followed Oikawa’s lead to the kitchen.

☆ ☆ ☆

Tuesday found Hajime rummaging through his sports bag for the third time in vain.

A faint frown pulled his eyebrows together as he came up empty-handed once again, his main jersey nowhere to be found. He didn’t know where it could have gone. Maybe his mother had taken it to wash? With a small sigh, Hajime decided it honestly didn’t even matter. Not when he had another one with him and practice started in a few minutes.

He rolled his shoulders a few times, steeling himself for the task of mothering the other members of his team. Even though everyone was generally decent at conducting themselves like actual people with actual dignity, there were a select few Hajime tended to worry about.

Oikawa was usually easy enough to handle on his own, considering the fact that the abundance of volleyballs in the gym always equated to an abundance of ammunition for Hajime. (Their relationship didn’t mean anything to Oikawa on the court except for when it benefitted  _ him _ , so Hajime was without that to back him up.) The real problem was when Oikawa decided to do something dumb, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa joined him. Then even more so when those idiots pulled an unsuspecting Kindaichi into things, or when Kyoutani got reeled into being the brunt of some prank.

Hajime cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath.

Yeah, the issues usually started with his fellow third years.

He pulled out his other jersey, then hiked his bag up to shove it in his locker with a grimace. His shoulder wasn’t quite at peak condition after a wrestling session with Hanamaki a few days previous, and the fact that Hajime won easily didn’t do much for the soreness.

“Are you okay, Iwaizumi-san?”

Hajime turned to see a somewhat concerned Kindaichi peering warmly at him. With a touch of surprise, Hajime murmured, “Just a bit sore, is all.” He offered the taller boy a small smile.

Kindaichi gave what Hajime assumed was a smile in return, his cheeks flowering a rather alarming pink. With a shaky nod and choppy movements, Kindaichi closed his locker and exited to the gym, his eyes never raising above floor level.

With a shake of his head, Hajime slowly pulled his own locker closed. It still got him that Kindaichi was so nervous around him. Hajime knew he was heavier in muscle than most, but he’d been Kindaichi’s senior for almost a year, and the kid was taller than him, for god’s sake.

Hajime shook out his mostly-green jersey then pulled it over his head. Doing a final sweep through of the locker room to check for stragglers and loose items, he straightened his collar, finally heading into the gym while cracking the remaining knuckles on his left hand.

The sight that greeted him upon entering the gym was both surprising, yet completely foreseeable, causing a deep irritation to set into Hajime’s gut. For what awaited him across the court was a peppy Oikawa, hands waving around animatedly as he explained something to one of his kouhai, Hajime’s previously AWOL jersey swaying around him with his movements. However focused of a look was set on Yahaba’s face, though, it was clear he wasn’t making anything out of the wild explanation pouring from Oikawa’s mouth, so Hajime decided that it was definitely an acceptable move to interrupt and avenge his jersey right then and there.

After a powerful stalk across the gym, almost without a thought, Hajime’s palm found itself slapping the back of Oikawa’s head, causing his admittedly soft locks to fly forward.

It was almost as if Hajime had knocked the indignant squawk right out of him. “Iwa-chan!”

“My jersey, dumbass.”

With a silent thanks and a grateful perk of his shoulders, Yahaba scurried off to join Watari by the sidelines, a relieved bounce in his step.

Rubbing the back of his head, Oikawa turned to Hajime, his brown eyes light. “Iwa-chan, you’re going to scare all of our teammates away,” he chimed, dropping his hands to scrunch around his hips.

“Well, you  _ did _ say it looks good on me,” Oikawa practically purred, straightening himself to draw up taller. “Certainly much better than it looks on you.”

Hajime’s fist found his shoulder with cutting accuracy.

Despite the seemingly negative content of their conversation, Hajime found he wasn’t truly angry, and Oikawa’s eyes were warm and genuine. Hajime searched Oikawa’s face, his own eyes growing fond. It was only Tuesday, an unusually rough day for even the toughest people, and Oikawa was right: he  _ did  _ look good in Hajime’s clothes.

“Just give it back to me after practice, okay?”

Oikawa laughed, gazing down at Hajime happily. Right then, Hajime was a bit taken aback by how  _ pretty  _ Oikawa was, just like he was almost every day in the presence of his brilliant companion. Oikawa continued to stare at him for a bit, their eyes locked. Then, with eyes especially bright, he broke the spell by whispering, “Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”

Instantly, the warmth that had been crackling delicately in Hajime, along with his reluctant exhaustion that came with the day being a Monday, stilled cautiously. Hajime’s eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “No... I have a jersey; you have a jersey. What kind of idiotic question is that?”

Laughter tumbled from Oikawa’s lips once again as he threw his head back. After a few gulps and one singsong giggle, Oikawa brought his head back down, wiping a bit at his eyes. And when his eyes finally returned to Hajime’s, they were filled with a teeming, energetic mischievousness.

_ Well, shit. _

“No,” Hajime said automatically.

However, it was already too late.

Oikawa grabbed the bottom of the jersey and deftly pulled it off over his head.

With a blinding smile, Oikawa threw the jersey in Hajime’s face.

“Shittykawa!” Hajime roared, snatching the jersey off his head. But when he pinned his eyes furiously on Oikawa, the offending creature had already skipped halfway across the court, laughing all the way.

Hajime heard dumb, girly sounds as Oikawa’s admirers that were undoubtedly crowded in the doorway of the gym freaked out. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Hajime attempted to clear it so he didn’t do something destructive in such a small span of time.

But then, the only thing that could get his blood boiling even more registered in his ears.

“Oh, so we’re going shirtless now?”

Hajime snapped his eyes open and swung his head around just in time to witness Matsukawa entering the gym, pulling his own jersey over his head.

“Matsukawa!” Hajime barely managed to bark before Hanamaki interrupted with, “Didn’t know you were so much fun Iwaizumi,” and removed his top as well.

Helpless to stop the irritation rapidly consuming him, Hajime’s vision clouded red at the edges. It would have been at least somewhat more of an easier situation to handle had he stopped its spread at Oikawa, but that hope in Hajime crumbled as his ears filled with underhanded snickers from Hanamaki and Oikawa’s chiming calls of sweet phrases to the swooning girls outside. Hajime’s mood grew ever darker as Matsukawa swooped Hanamaki into a lopsided, badly timed waltz, their legs snagging and causing whatever shitty pop song they had decided to belt out to hitch and catch inappropriately.

“All of you, shirts on!” Hajime shouted, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Now!”

He could see their other teammates around the gym, half of them eyeing the gay happenings wearily, the other half twinkling in mild interest. Yahaba and Watari looked like they were about to shit themselves with laughter, while Kyoutani looked so uncomfortable he could burst into flames right then and there.

From out of nowhere, and causing Hajime to jolt embarrassingly, Matsukawa’s arm made it around his shoulders. Hajime stiffened instantly, sensing Matsukawa’s smirk by his ear. “Lighten up, Iwaizumi.”

Hajime visibly shook.

Hanamaki’s arm made it around him as well, curling around Hajime’s waist from the other side. “Join the fun,” he purred, pillowing his head against Hajime’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Iwa-chan, have fun with us,” Oikawa called, bounding over to them - but not before blowing a kiss to the girls.

Hajime began to take deep breaths in through his nose, siphoning air carefully through his mouth, lest he hurt someone. Matsukawa’s arm across his shoulders was warm and only served to fuel his anger, and Hanamaki’s hold on him as well as the fact that he was using Hajime as a headrest did nothing to calm him.

Coming to a halt in front of Hajime (and his new appendages), Oikawa took on a powerful stance, legs set wide apart, shoulders back and spine straight with pride. He eyed Hajime thoughtfully, eyes impossibly sunny. If Hajime didn’t know him better, he’d think Oikawa would stand there all day, staring at him like he’d won one over on him, but he  _ did  _ know Oikawa better, and when he finally spoke, Hajime wasn’t surprised - or pleased - in the least.

“Take your shirt off, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chirped, smiling slowly.

With barely contained rage, Hajime shook his head jerkily.

And when Matsukawa’s arm tightened around him and Hanamaki rubbed his nose into his shoulder, Hajime snapped.

“Get off me, idiots!” Hajime screamed, shoving at them.

But then Oikawa was right in front of him, hands fisted into Hajime’s shirt. Hanamaki and Matsukawa attempted to restrain Hajime from behind, but he was kicking and heaving too much for anyone to get a good hold.

Hajime heard Kindaichi gasp in horror, and his face and neck reddened even more.

Hanamaki finally got a grip around Hajime’s hips, and Oikawa already had Hajime’s shirt yanked above his waist. Matsukawa cackled lowly under his breath, his foot pressing Hajime’s own into the wooden floor as he held one of Hajime’s arms to his chest. There was a big struggle, then suddenly they all ended up in a giant, wriggling heap on the floor. At least two elbows made it into Hajime’s stomach, and he was pretty sure Hanamaki’s mouth made contact with his knee, if the wetness and the location of Hanamaki’s face had anything to do with it. Squeals of glee continued to spill from Oikawa, and Hajime thought that that must have sounded pretty interesting mingling with his own screams and grunts of profanity. He could still hear Matsukawa laughing roughly, and the muffled snickers that came from Hanamaki infuriated Hajime all the more.

It was hard to move with three large, athletic young men piled on top of him, but Hajime almost made it free.

Almost.

The three shirtless wonders somehow managed to rip Hajime’s shirt off of him, but then they  _ ate dust. _

Oikawa’s limbs seemed to liquefy as he slumped and toppled out of their struggling pile of limbs, falling right on his ass, Hajime’s jersey somehow still clenched triumphantly in his fist. Hanamaki fell right on his face, his hip bashing Matsukawa into the floor as well.

And due to their strange positioning and the sporadic nature of their scuffle, even more surprisingly, Hajime found himself standing there, flustered and red and shirtless and looking significantly like he had played an overwhelming part in whatever disaster had just occurred.

“Iwaizumi!”

Hajime turned his head slowly, and sure enough, the girls who had once occupied the doorway were cowering in fear at the edges, Coach Mizoguchi standing tall with his arms crossed over his chest right in the middle of them.

With a sigh, Hajime thought back on all that had gotten him to this point. It was a good life. And any small hope he had had that Mizoguchi might read the situation as exactly what it was - a horrible catastrophe of which Hajime was merely an innocent victim - evaporated as he took in the unforgiving hardness in the assistant coach’s eyes.

“Yes, coach?”

☆ ☆ ☆

The amount of times that Oikawa had tried to sweet talk him and pepper even sweeter kisses to his cheeks surprised Hajime infinitely less than the rotted food and ratty clothes they had uncovered so far in the club room.

“You can’t get me in trouble then turn around and pretend like it wasn’t your fault!” Hajime said sharply, flinging some yellow shirt away from himself.

A cloth was tied over Oikawa’s mouth and nose to protect him from the dust and god knows what else, but Hajime knew he was pouting.

A clatter and a strange crunching sound briefly warned them of Hanamaki’s intrusion into their conversation before his strawberry blond head peeped up over a pile of  _ things _ . “Really, Oikawa, your messes are getting so out of control, even Mommy is having trouble sorting them out.”

Before Hajime could rage and fume about the countless things he disapproved of in that sentence, Matsukawa’s head popped up by Hanamaki’s. “She’s already overworked as it is, just look at her.” He and Hanamaki punctuated this statement by swiveling their heads flatly in tandem and peering over at Hajime with the driest, most bored expressions to ever take residence on their faces.

“Hrrghh,” Hajime managed, swinging his arms spasmodically and directing his angry gaze at the nearest area to be cleaned. Really,  _ how _ had he of all people allowed the clubroom to get this trashed, and  _ how _ did he get stuck cleaning it with these idiots?

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa began, his gently pitched voice sounding even softer through the fabric, “it wouldn’t have gotten so bad if Mattsun and Makki-chan hadn’t joined in…”

Hajime showed no mercy, not letting the genuine lull in Oikawa’s voice affect him, harshly emptying the shelf immediately next to his head and successfully ignoring his boyfriend.

A delicate sliding sound indicated the drag of Oikawa’s feet on the tile as he shuffled closer to Hajime from behind. Long, leanly muscled arms drew around Hajime’s waist, and the warm weight of Oikawa’s head joined him as Oikawa settled his forehead against the back of Hajime’s neck.

Hajime let out a small sigh. This was so much nicer than whatever crap Hanamaki and Matsukawa had pulled on him earlier.

He let himself lean back into Oikawa, taking in the quiet and pleased hum that stirred the hair at the nape of his neck. Ignoring whatever ‘ooh’s and ‘ah’s and cooing and slander that was emitting from their buds on the other side of the room, Hajime whispered, “They did play a big part, but it was you who started it.”

A soft yet indignant scoff sounded behind Hajime. “I had it all under control until  _ they _ joined in.”

“You would have never have gotten my shirt off of me without them to help you out.”

Hajime could practically hear Oikawa’s ridiculous response before he even said it. “I’ve gotten your shirt off several times without them around!”

A high “OOOH” as well as a dangerous sounding  _ thunk  _ and a twin pair of  _ ouch _ es sounded from the other side of the room.

Hajime snorted outright. “Whatever, Oikawa,” he muttered, allowing a small smile as he stared at the (thankfully, clean) ceiling.

Feeling a long graze and scrape at his neck, Hajime narrowed his eyes, understanding that Oikawa was attempting his “kiss and make better” thing again. Too bad it worked pretty pitifully with that cloth over his face.

“Hey, hey,” Hajime said, straightening and shaking himself out of Oikawa’s arms. “Your guys’ fuck up is what landed us in here to clean, and I’m not happy about being in here to do it with you, but we’ve still gotta do it.”

Oikawa slumped forward in defeat, pinching his nose through the material to display his dislike of the smell, his shoulders shuddering in disgust. Hanamaki pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and sighed heavily with unnecessary flair and from somewhere on the ground Matsukawa whispered ‘heh, do it’ with his signature sleepy face.

Hajime scooped up an empty box and threw it at Oikawa, who stumbled and flailed, barely catching it.

“Let’s do this. I don’t want this clubroom smelling like Oikawa’s feet and an old ass crack anymore.”

Oikawa squawked and then began piling random items into the box, grumbling to himself.

Hajime felt almost like an exasperated Robin Hood. Or just some other leader of a band of thieves who’d had to sacrifice his ‘cool’ factor in favor of disciplining his loyal mates. You know, if that band of loyal mates was composed of dumbass tools who actually deserved everything they had coming to them. With a small sigh, Hajime picked up his own box, breathing through his mouth because wow was he over the smell.

_ Here’s hoping that tomorrow is significantly less idiotic than today _ , he thought, biting back a smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> B))


End file.
